


three times matt tried and failed to propose (and one time he didn't)

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does what it says on the tin. Proposal fluff, because why not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three times matt tried and failed to propose (and one time he didn't)

**1.** The first time he tries, it’s on set. A ridiculous amount of planning has gone into this event over the last couple of days, and absolutely nothing is going to go wrong. The director’s sent them off on an extended lunch break, but kept Matt back for “a quick lighting check” while Arthur distracts Karen until they’re out of the door and on their way to the Blue Box Café before she can stop to wait for him. Ten minutes later, a text comes through from Arthur –

**The fox has taken off.**

Matt reads the message with a grin; Arthur’s pseudo-spy language is, of course, ruined moments later by his second message –

**G’luck buddy!!!**

Oh god. The enormity of the moment begins to weigh in on Matt, especially when the TARDIS door squeaks open and Karen’s voice drifts through. She’s on the phone to her mum, and it’s not like Matt is _trying_ to eavesdrop, but…

“No, mum, it’s fine.  _Yes_ , it’s all normal. No, we’re not “public” yet. No, I don’t mind.  _Yes_ , mum, god’s sake!” Karen’s voice is bored; irritated; a little bit embarrassed. “Yes I know it only takes one time. Yes, I know it’s my responsibility – ugh, Mum, shut up, please!”

Matt flushes, certain that Karen will  _not_ appreciate him listening in on this conversation; where to hide? He runs lightly up the stairs into one of the corridors leading off the main console areas and ducks into the shadows as Karen comes into view.

“Yeah, I… where the hell is it? No, mum, I’m just – “ She’s looking around now, more than a little confused. “Arthur sent me back for his Rory jumper ‘cos he was still eating, and I’m just looking now… Listen, I’ll call you back, okay? Yeah. Love you too. Bye, mum!”

She hangs up, and ducks down to look under the consol with a huff. “Fuck’s sake, Arthur, get your own bloody jumper,” she mumbles, and Matt decides now may be his best shot. He saunters down the stairs and grins casually at her until she straightens up and notices him. “Get your own  _stupid_  jumper next time, I… Oh! Hey, Matt.”

“All right, Kazza?” he smiles. “What’re you doing back here then?”

“Oh, Arthur sent me back for his jumper,” Karen explains, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, I swear at some point I’m just going to refuse to do anything for him ever again, that man is the laziest person I’ve ever met…”

They’ve been casually edging closer to each other, both intricately aware of the fact that they’re alone together for once, and now Matt’s hands are on her waist.

“You’re too kind to do that,” he murmurs into her hair, grinning when she trembles slightly under his touch.

“I know,” she replies, an edge of humour still on her even though her eyes are dark. Then she reaches up, pulling his face to hers. They kiss, a long sweet kiss that feels to Matt like it’s sucking all the air out of his body; he’s light-headed already, and all of his plans have suddenly slipped down his list of priorities in favour of clinging on to Karen, his hands sliding up her sides and his tongue dancing with hers.

“We should go back,” Karen says, breathless, when they break apart.

“Mmmyeah,” he hums vaguely, taking a slight step back and holding on to her hands. “Listen, Kaz, I wanted to talk to you actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matt confirms, his heart pounding. “Karen, I…I love you.”

“I love you too, stupid,” Karen laughs, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Good,” Matt grins, then realises that makes no sense whatsoever. “And – and well, I was thinking, because you know we’ve been going out for, what, two years now? And you’re my best friend. And I’ve loved you ever since I first met you. And – I really do love you, Karen, and I want everyone in the whole entire world to know how much I love you. I…”

His voice peters out while his eyes stay fixed on Karen’s face; there’s a red tinge to her cheeks, and she isn’t running away – but she isn’t saying anything, either.

“Matt,” she breathes eventually, snaking her arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

She begins a slow trail of open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, coming to a stop at his lips and smiling against them. It’s all Matt can do not to groan out loud; he staggers backwards, bracing himself against the central console, and lets his hands anchor themselves in the small of Karen’s back. Everything is in this kiss; Matt knows Karen understands what he was asking, even if she hasn’t realised it yet herself, and the soft, low sounds that escape from her mouth every now and then are all the answers he needs to hear. Their lips move as one, and the temperature of the room is rising drastically – soon, Matt’s hands are sliding up and under Karen’s shirt, while her fingers are hooked into the waistband of his trousers, both of them moaning softly into the kiss –  _desperate_  for more.

“Karen, I found the jumper!” A young, excited voice draws them out of the moment; in another moment, Oscar is skipping up through the TARDIS doors, his pirate garb billowing around his skinny little legs. “Arthur didn’t leave it after all, it was under the table the whole time, and…”

He falters, catching the way in which neither Karen nor Matt is looking anywhere but at the floor.

“Sorry, is something – “He begins again, frowning; the hand that proffered that stupid jumper now sinking slowly back to his side.

“No! No,” Matt grins, jumping into action. “Cheers, Oscar, mate.”

**2.** The second time Matt tries, they’re in bed, still flush with lust and love, just holding on to each other now and murmuring simple, sweet phrases that mean nothing up at the ceiling and in the vague direction of each other’s faces. Karen’s being  _adorable_ : she’s trying to tell a funny story of what happened to her in the make-up truck this morning, but all her sentences are coming out confused and half-muddled.

“And then – “She stops to giggle slightly, her head turning so she can cushion her face in his shoulder. “Emily, the new make-up intern, she’s called Emily, she’s really sweet and realy good at doing my hair even at the end of the day so I don’t look like a goblin, yeah, you know Emily, right? She’s the new make-up girl.”

“Yeah, I know, Karen,” Matt chuckles, a warm glow enveloping his body as he snakes an arm around Karen’s side and pulls her close to him. “You said.”

“Did I? Oh…” Karen looks a little confused. “Anyway, Emily started doing my make-up, ‘cos that’s where we were. We were in the make-up truck and she was doing my make-up. Because this was in the morning. And I forgot to tell you this at the beginning but actually this was in the morning, so I needed make-up for filming. Because I needed to have my Amy make-up on for filming Amy scenes. Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Matt agrees with her absent-mindedly, more intent on winding a stray curl of her hair around his finger than on the mess of words pouring out of her mouth.

“And – “Karen erupts in a fit of giggles. “She kept – she kept calling me  _Amy_ today oh my god it was the funniest thing ever. And she kept apologising and saying sorry but she actually said  _sorry, Amy_ and then she kept blushing and mumbling and yeah it was hilarious.”

“Well,” Matt smiles. “Can’t blame her. You have that effect on people.”

“What?” Karen looks genuinely baffled. “A tendency to make them call me Amy?”

“No…” he sticks his tongue out at her to take the edge the intensity. “The tendency to render everyone you meet speechless.”

“Oh, you, Matt,” she tells him fondly, bumping her forehead into his shoulder. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Stop complimenting my insanely gorgeous girlfriend? Not a chance,” Matt grins, his mouth involuntarily tripping over that word,  _girlfriend_ , because another, bigger, scarier alternative to it has danced its way into the forefront of his mind again.

He glances over at Karen to make sure she’s still smiling – which she is – and then Matt takes a deep, shuddering breath, wraps his hands around Karen’s, and begins to speak.

“Kaz… Karen. I wanted to ask you. Because I tried before and it didn’t work out but I think you know what I meant. And I really, really, really want you to listen to me,” he begins, while his mind is going  _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck you haven’t prepped this speech it’s all going to go wrooooong_.

But it’s not going  _wroooong_ just yet – Karen’s lifted her head slightly to look at him, open-faced and giving him her fullest attention, so Matt knows there couldn’t be a better time to ask this.

“What I meant to say is – Karen. I love you. And I want us to – I want to –“

“Yeah,” she says, interrupting him.

“W-what did you say?” Matt fumbles, his head reeling.

“I said, yeah,” Karen nods, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You’re right. It’s time we should. They can’t really tell us not to anymore, anyway, right?”

Matt’s insanely-pounding heart slows a bit at those words; they don’t quite match the image in his mind’s eye of how her speech was supposed to go. “Wh…” he clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Karen shrugs. “The whole no-dating thing.”

“I…right,” he mutters. Of course. The Rule.

“But, you know what?” Karen beams at him. “Screw them. Screw the rules. We’re going  _public_.”

For an instant, Matt feels like he’s falling.

Then the reality of her words catches up with him, and though it’s not quite what he had in mind, the pictures rushing to his mind right now – talking about Karen without lying the whole time.  Holding her hand properly when they’re out on press things. Hell, even just going out for a  _night out_  like every other couple – are far from distressing. He grins, and nods at her.

“Yeah, screw the rules,” he laughs.

“Besides,” Karen grins. “I reckon they don’t really care at this point, right? I mean, we broke the first rule anyway, and it was only after Steve and that got bored of us sneaking around on set that they changed it to “no  _public_  relationships” so… I don’t see why anyone would care. It’s not like half the internet doesn’t know already”

Matt groans at those words, and nods.  _That_ evening in with too much red wine and Alex and Arthur laughing at them over an open laptop was…  Educational and alarmingly accurate. They’d actually maintained a half-hearted attempt at public professionalism from that moment on – not that it’s discouraged anyone, from what Matt sees every now and then through half-closed eyes every time he gives in to the oddly fascinating masochism of googling various versions of his and Karen’s names.

Karen’s laughing at him openly now, the quick display of various emotions – discomfort, amusement, embarrassment, some weird kind of arousal and a heavy dose of bewilderment -  that’s flashing across his face apparently rather obvious. “You went and looked again?” she asks, grinning at his expression. “Yeah, me too. Kind of… addictive.  But anyway! Where were we? Public. Us. Yeah?”

“Us,” Matt nods, a grin threatening to split his face. “Public.  _Yeah.”_

**3.** The third time he tries, it’s Christmas. They’ve spent the last week at Karen’s family’s shared cottage, a tiny little thing in the country outside Inverness where, according to Karen, you can usually find one or two smaller groups of cousins and step-sisters and sons and best friends and girlfriends, escaping the rush of routine for a weekend away, and where, in this very moment, roughly twenty of Karen’s extended family members are sharing the space. Matt and Karen have been sharing a sofa in a room where Caitlin, her younger sister, their half-brother, and his older sister, are all camped out on the floor, but they’ve by no means got it the worst – at least there’s actually space for any of them to  _move_ without forcing everyone else to move as well.

At the moment, though, it’s just the two of them, sprawled out on the sofa which has become their round-the-clock base ever since that fateful second dinner on Boxing Day.  _Mary Poppins_  is on, but neither of them are watching all that closely. Matt’s watching Karen, as usual. She’s pink-cheeked and tousle-haired, wrapped up in the enormous knitted jumper he gave her for Christmas, her feet hidden in the novelty Gruffalo slippers that match his – their present from Arthur (they think; it arrived with no note, and it seems like his kind of gift).

“What?” Karen has looked round at him, a contented smile on her face, and Matt is gripped with an urge to do this  _now_. Because why not? Why not here, in her family home? Why not now, when they’ve just whiled away the first half of the most domestic – and most perfect – fortnight they’ve ever had together? Why the hell not  _right here, right now?_

“Karen, I – “ he gulps, captivated once again by the way the crisp winter sunlight is lighting her face up from behind. “You know, I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you for ages.”

It’s true; recently, every time they’ve had alone together has been punctuated, for Matt at least, by a steady pulse of  _ask her ask her ask her ask her ask her._  She  _can’t_ not have noticed – sometimes, Matt catches her just staring at him as if she’s trying to figure him out. As if she’s waiting.

“Well.” Karen says finally, a faintly dreamy look in her eyes. “Talk away.”

“I… I love you, Karen,” Matt blurts out; he’s said the words so many times now, but he’s still not sure she believes him, sometimes –  _that’s_ there in the walls she puts up so carefully, in the way their talks almost all turn back to laughing idiotically at something or snogging furiously, in the way her eyes close off almost imperceptibly every time someone – anyone - brings up things like having babies. Growing old. The future.

Still, Matt carries on, because he  _knows_ her better than that. Knows she is capable of  _so much more_ love than she thinks she is able to give, or allowed to receive. Knows it better than he knows himself.

“Kaz, the last couple of months have been – well –  _amazing_ ,” he breathes, giving her a small smile which she quietly returns. “Just hanging out with you in public, not worrying about the press every time we leave each others’ houses, all that stuff… I can’t believe it, sometimes. Can’t believe I get to have all this, with you. And… I think we should – I think we could, maybe, if you wanted to – I mean, at least we can maybe talk about…”

He breaks off, because this is the closest he’s gotten so far to the actual question, and it is quite possibly the scariest thing he has ever faced.

“Matt?” Karen prompts gently, her eyes wide and unreadable. Matt thinks he can see her shields up, but she isn’t distracting him with a kiss or a joke or a change of topic. Maybe she’s ready to hear him.

Maybe he isn’t quite ready for her. Not yet.

“Kaz… Do you want to – do you want to maybe move in with me?”

Matt thinks he sees her face fall, just slightly; and as sick and pathetic as that is, it’s almost enough to give him hope.

Almost.

Because it’s him that’s completely and absolutely at fault here. No phones, no interruptions, no Karen being all… _Karen_  – he should have been able to say it.  _Would_ have said it, too, if he hadn’t gotten so bloody terrified.

“I…yeah,” Karen gives him a strange, half-happy smile. “That sounds – Matt, that’d be – amazing. Yeah, we’ll live together. Yes.”

Matt smiles back, his heart still hammering in his chest.

Next time, he tells himself, even though he knows it’s just a clever lie. You’re definitely going to ask her next time.

**4.** The day she says yes, he isn’t trying at all.

“Matt?” Karen calls him in through the wide-open door. “Have you got the painting stuff?”

“Here!” he grins, holding up two straining plastic bags full of tins of paint and roller brushes and trays  “Cornflower blue for the bathroom, like you asked. And tons of just white – ivory, the one you said was your favourite – and then a whole bunch of bright colours for skirting boards and stuff.”

“Ah, brilliant,” Karen beams, striding into view. Her hair’s pulled back all messily from her face, she’s wearing no make-up whatsoever, and if Matt isn’t very much mistaken she’s just pulled on some dungarees over the shirt she both wore yesterday and slept in. And, god, she looks gorgeous, a streak of dust on her nose and her arms stained yellow with yesterday’s paint job.

She goes to take one of the plastic carriers, but Matt simply muscles past her with a stupidly proud look opn his face.

“It’s fine, Kaz, I got it,” Matt boasts, before dropping one of the bags on the kitchen floor and sending tins rolling everywhere..

“My handy man,” she teases, following him through to the kitchen. “I love you.”

“Love you too, stupid face,” he calls over his shoulder, grinning to himself. “Now come on, let’s get started, yeah? Corridor?”

They work well together, getting the corridor painted a shining, uniform white before lunch and then moving on to the first room.

“What’s this room again?” Matt asks, frowning at the various options for skirting-board-adorning colours.

“Oh, you know,” Karen shrugs her shoulders. “People staying over. A place to keep some boxes, or a desk, or – or something else. I – I don’t know.”

“Ah,” Matt nods impressively, a blush threatening to work its way up his neck and over his cheeks. The spare room. The Room That Must Not Be Named by anyone, especially not their mothers. Their room-for-one-more, as the estate agent had so charmingly put it.

And, well, why not? They were clearly a couple, young but not ridiculously young, buying their first property together… There was nothing in their way, not really, not when you didn’t count Doctor Who (and they  _weren’t_ counting Doctor Who any more – at least, Karen wouldn’t be, in less than three months from now).

“So…” Matt spoke quickly, trying to gloss over the moment. “What do you reckon? Light blue for the door and window frames? Yellow for the skirting board?”

Karen smiles, and nods, at his choices; belatedly, Matt remembers the old cliché, the stereotypical nursery in pastel blue and yellow… But that’s different, he hastens to think to himself. Their yellow was a  _strong_ yellow, not pastel, and their blue was more of a light royal blue than sky-coloured, and…

“You know,” Karen said, surprising both of them. “Or we could just think about what we’re going to need this room for.”

“What do you mean?” Matt looks at her a little sharply.

“Well,” Karen rushes on, flustered; her cheeks are red. “Maybe, in a couple of months time or something, we’ll – we could – add. To the room,” she finishes lamely, her eyes fixed on the floor.

_“Karen_ ,” Matt breathes, his voice low and incredulous. “Do you mean – wait – are you – what are you trying to  _tell me_ here, Kaz?”

“No! Matt, I’m not!” she rushes to tell him, the colour flying to her cheeks.

“Oh.” He’s a little at a loss now, so just rocks back on his heels to look at her expectantly.

“I just thought we  _could_ ,” Karen murmurs at the floorboards.

Matt laughs, a huge, ridiculously joyful sound that threatens to take over the entire building, let alone their flat, let alone this room. “Oh my god, Karen, are you – are you  _serious_?” When she nods tentatively, he pulls her into a crushingly tight hug.

“Yes,” Matt says. “A thousand times, yes yes yes. God, Karen are we – we’re really going to – oh my god have I told you how much I love you today?”

She giggles, finally dragging her eyes up from her shoes to smile at him before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with shaking lips. When they pull apart, she’s crying and smiling and laughing all at once, and so is he, and for Matt it feels like the most natural thing of all to simply open his mouth and say –

“Marry me, Kaz?” 


End file.
